NOTES: Yes. I am well aware I'm not supposed to write another story, not when I have sooo many already. But the Aziraphale in my head gave me that puppy-dog eyes and pout not even God could resist, and just like Crowley, I'm a sucker for it. So, here it is, I suppose; my contribution to this wonderful fandom. I haven't finished reading the book yet, and although I know quite much about Christianity, I'm not exactly a Christian. So, terribly sorry if I offend anyone. I really do hope you guys like this prologue though. I'll try post the first chapter as soon as possible. It'll be even faster if you guys tell me about it hahaha ;P Alright, that's enough talking. Happy reading! :)

At first, there was a woman.

She was as beautiful as she was powerful. A smile was ever present on her gentle face, although some often remarked that her smile was only a façade to the ruthlessness she had in her heart. But that didn't mean she lacked compassion. No, she had that in an abundance. The problem was, her line of work sometimes forced her to hide that compassion. Business, after all, was horrible to everyone, especially the fairer sex. She succeeded though, despite everything. Unlike most men, her brilliance wasn't accompanied by an ego the size of a planet. It definitely helped her in showing those people who doubted her capabilities when she first decided that she'd build an empire over the staggering amount of debts that her deceased husband left behind. In the first decade she joined the ranks of successful businessmen, it didn't take long for people to forget her husband's name and begin to refer her by her maiden name. In the second decade, everyone only knew her as the King, her first name completely forgotten as they referred her by her surname in a kind of reverence that not even the Queen of England could get.

In a way, she'd almost become God-like.

(BANG! BANG!)

There was a woman, but there were also her two sons.

People often told the older son that he was his mother's son through and through. Blond haired and blue eyed like the King, with an intelligence and ruthlessness that could rival the powerful woman, he was practically a masculine version of the King. From the way they looked to the way they moved, no one would ever doubt that they were related. That they were mother and son. And Lucian grew up worshipping the ground his mother walked on. There was nothing in the world – nay, in the universe – that he wanted more than to be like his mother. He worked very hard to make sure that he would be just a brilliant as his mother. But if there was anything else Lucian wanted even more, it would be his mother smiling that gentle smile at him, telling that she was proud of him. Everything he did, it was for his mother. Everything he did, it was for that gentle smile.

That gentle smile she that seldom gave him, but always for his little brother.

("It was always him. Always. That lazy, good-for-nothing, idiot.")

Although his brother took after their mother, glowing in all their golden glory that made them seemed almost ethereal, young Raphael was just as breath-taking in his fiery red radiance. It was in the younger King's carefree laugh that anyone could see where his mother's infamous compassion had gone to. While Lucian was too busy studying his arse off so he could get into the country's top business school, Raphael decided early on he'd rather paint the stars that both he and his mother loved so much. His golden eyes would crinkle adorably as they accompanied the toothy grin he had every time his mother gave him that smile after he gifted her one of his exquisite paintings. It was common knowledge between anyone who knew the three Kings that even if Lucian handed the key to Buckingham Palace to his mother, the King would appreciate Raphael more for taking care of her beloved Garden, which was forbidden for anyone else other than herself and her youngest.

So, really, it shouldn't be a surprised for Lucian when he found out that his mother had planned on choosing his sweet, little brother as her Heir.

And it wasn't. It really wasn't.

("I have done everything for you, Mother. What more do you want? Why don't you ever love me?")

("Because I see myself too much in you, my darling prince.")

It didn't mean he wasn't bitter about it though - because it hurt him. She hurt him.

(BANG!)

At first, there was a woman. A businesswoman. A King.

But most important of all, she was a Mother.

Then there were her two sons. One of them was practically made in her image, while the other was the complete opposite. She loved them both so much, she really did – equally. She would give them the world if they wanted her too, and had done exactly that. But quite contrary to popular belief, she wasn't exactly God, despite how many people acted as if she was. So, like every other human being on Earth, she made mistakes. Grave mistakes that led to something even more dreadful. But, then again, she always believed that even God could make mistakes, so maybe she wasn't completely in the wrong after all.

("Mother?)

She did have regrets though. She regretted the fact that wasn't a better Mother for her sons. She regretted the life she'd forced on her boys. She regretted the terrible fate she'd left behind for her princes. She regretted that her legacy was reduced to two brilliant men fighting over the love of a foolish old woman.

She regretted the fact that she could probably do better as God than she was as a Mother.

("No, no, no… Mother, wake up. Wake up, please.")

And that was the last thing she had in mind, as she breathed her last breath, her blue eyes staring into her son's golden ones.